


You Taste like Spotchka and Murder

by Guaca_molly



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Armitage Hux is Bad at Feelings, Dom/sub, Dominant Armitage Hux, F/M, Healthy Relationships, I'm a virgin with too much internet access, I'm sorry Domhnall Gleeson, Jealousy, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Millicent the Cat Ships It (Star Wars), Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Reader goes from a cantina girl to a first order colonel to Hux's girlfriend(spoilers oops), Reader takes no shit, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29808648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guaca_molly/pseuds/Guaca_molly
Summary: Some much-needed appreciation for my favourite space ginger and his buckethead bestie. That's it.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Reader, Armitage Hux/You, Kylo Ren/Reader, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	You Taste like Spotchka and Murder

**Author's Note:**

> Am I starting this to procrastinate writing my Tom Riddle fic?
> 
> Yes.
> 
> Do I feel guilty about it?
> 
> N̶o̶t̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ Of course.
> 
> Forewarning: I write in Canadian/British English. So yes, there will be some U's in places where Americans don't usually put them. And no, that U in favourite or colour or rumour is not a typo...
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> Chapters that contain smut will have an NSFW warning at the beginning.

**“This is a new day, a new beginning.”**

**-Ahsoka Tano**

**Star Wars Rebels: _“Fire Across The Galaxy.”_**

* * *

“Another round of Spotchka for table 15.”

You hated your job. Loathed it, really.

There was nothing enjoyable about working as a waitress in a back-alley, rooftop cantina in Mos Eisley. Shift after shift, you sweltered beneath Tatooine’s twin suns, servings drinks and appetizers to patrons who never bothered to leave half-decent tips. It was tedious work; every day felt the same—endless, hot, and boring.

You considered quitting once every standard week, but you never allowed yourself to entertain those heat-stroke-driven thoughts for long. As tiresome as waiting on tables was, working at _Chalmun’s Spaceport Cantina_ was much better than being unemployed. And the pay was good enough, you supposed, though many of your fellow waitstaff would disagree. You’d heard a number of them hassling the owner for monthly pay raises, but you were comfortable with what you were currently earning. Plus, you wouldn’t voluntarily approach Wuher for anything, let alone a few extra credits.

“Spotchka. Table 15. Pronto.”

“Right away, Circuits.”

“Don’t call me that, girl.”

You grabbed a tall bottle of Spotchka from behind the sandstone bar, winking at the ruffled supervisor droid as you passed.

 _EV-9D9_ , known as Eve to her friends, had worked at Chalmun’s as the main bartender for longer than you’d been alive. No one knew what she’d done before that, but there were plenty of rumours. Some said that she’d belonged to the late Jabba the Hutt, a notorious crime lord with a thirst for cruelty. Out of curiosity, you’d asked her about Jabba once and had quickly learned that she didn’t like being interrogated about her past. Or being called Circuits.

Eve was the one who’d landed you this star-forsaken job. She’d found you digging around for scraps behind the building, in desperate need of sustenance after having trekked through the desert alone for days. Out of the goodness of her heart—programming—she’d talked Wuher into giving you the available waitressing position.

And here you were, two years later, feeling even more helpless than you had upon first crash landing on this wasteland of a planet, delivering a bottle of Sorgan brew to a table of drunk Twi’leks.

“Are you ready for the bill?” you asked the group after filling the empty shot glasses on their table. _Please be ready for the bill._

How many orders was that now? There were only three of them sitting at the table, two males and one female, and they’d already gone through _four_ bottles. You suspected most of the drinking had been done by the female, who was slumped back in her seat and snoring loudly, green lekku tossed haphazardly over the cushions behind her. You would have to keep an eye on her for the rest of the night, just in case her companions attempted to take liberties while she was in such a state.

“Not quite yet, beautiful,” said the male Twi’lek closest to you. His skin was the colour of sand and his eyes were even duller, unfocused by drink. He smiled up at you, revealing yellow teeth that had been filed into razor-sharp points. _Attractive_. Gesturing to the empty seat beside him, he said, “Join us.”

It wasn’t a question. It was never a question.

“I’m not interested,” you said, shifting backwards.

You tightened your grip on the bottle, eyeing him. He was bigger than you, but you had plenty of experience fending off drunken customers who felt entitled to a go with you just because you poured their shots. You knew you could fight him off. And he seemed to know it as well.

“Fine,” the Twi’lek huffed, downing the rest of his drink. “You’re ugly anyway.”

You forced a smile. “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”

Stars, you really hated this job.

You returned to the bar and ordered a glass of ice water for the unconscious female. On the house. Eve made a sound of whizzing disapproval at that, but you ignored her. Droids could withstand Tatooine’s heat but living things—even Twi’leks who were native to a planet with a similar climate—couldn’t. The water would also help to level out the Spotchka in her system. You wanted her to be wide-awake and on her way to sober before she left the cantina.

Bad things happened to women all over the galaxy. But they would not happen here, not under your watch. Not this time.

“My sensors indicate that you are upset, girl.”

You raised a brow at Eve, leaning against the bar. “I’m fine.”

“My programming does not lie.”

“It’s hot.”

“Hot as shit,” added a voice from behind you. “We should get air-coolers.”

You hummed in agreement as Kaia, a Palliduvan waitress with chalky white skin and long purple braids rounded the bar and dumped a tray of plates into the pile of unwashed dishes beside Eve.

“We don’t need air-coolers,” the droid countered. “None of the customers have complained about the temperature.”

“Because they’re terrified of you,” Kaia replied, wiping sweat from her brow. Rumours of being associated with the Hutts had made Eve all the more intimidating. Even if they were just that—rumours.

“No air-coolers,” Eve said, choosing to ignore Kaia’s comment. “The shade is shelter enough for you soft-skinned lifeforms.”

Though Eve’s vocoder didn’t allow for any fluctuation in tone, there was something unmistakably final about her words. You exchanged a glance with Kaia over the droid’s head, silently warning her to hold her tongue. Being on Eve’s good graces was a rarity, and you didn’t want to lose your standing because your favourite coworker wanted something as trivial as air-coolers.

Eventually, Kaia huffed out a sigh, relenting. “Fine. Fine. But when I use up all of the staff’s water supply to stay cool, don’t come pointing fingers at me.” She poked Eve in the shoulder and added, “You’re lucky you’ll never have to experience thirst, you big lump of metal.”

Eve’s fans whirred. “Get your Palliduvan paws off my wires.”

“Get off my nerves, clanker.”

“I am your boss, Kaia Sing. Watch it.”

“Wuher is my boss. You’re just a pain in my a—”

 _“Ladies,”_ you said, interrupting their verbal brawl by shoving yourself between the pair. You nodded towards the door, where a tall figure cloaked in all black had just entered the cantina and was currently making their way towards a booth in the back. “Work comes before your bickering.”

Kaia’s eyes tracked the newcomer as they moved, lips curling down. When they took a seat in the area of the cantina that you were both in charge of serving for the day, she looked at you and said, “Wanna flip for it?”

You shook your head. “I’ve got it.”

Her relief was palpable. Kaia had always disliked attending to people whose faces she didn’t recognize. You didn’t know why, but you assumed it had something to do with the fact that her mother was an infamous bounty hunter with many foes. “Careful,” she warned as you ducked beneath the bar and grabbed a menu for your new customer. “They look a bit villainous.”

“You’re just overcritical.”

“This is Tatooine,” she called at your retreating form. “I have to be.”

You pulled at the dipping collar of your uniform as you veered towards the cloaked figure, darting in between the many patrons mulling and dancing about the rooftop, trying not to trip over anyone’s feet or wheels or tentacles.

_This is Tatooine. I have to be._

Kaia was right. It never hurt to be judgmental of people here, especially when slavers loved to frequent establishments like this, searching for creatures made of metal and flesh alike to sell to the highest bidder.

You stole a glance across the cantina, checking once again to see if the female Twi’lek was safe, a weight lifting from your chest when you saw that she was awake and tentatively sipping at the water you’d sent her. _Thank the Maker._ You turned back around just in time to see the cloaked figure pulling down their hood as you neared, revealing themselves to be a human woman. She was broad-shouldered, pale and tall, with a startlingly blonde crop of closely cut hair atop her head.

Though she was not carrying any visible weapons, you slowed your pace as you approached, your footsteps deliberately noisy so that you wouldn’t surprise her and accidentally get yourself shot in the face. That would be a shitty way to end the week; you liked your face just the way it was. When the woman looked up at you, you were already wearing your most charming cantina girl smile: a toothy and enthusiastic grin.

“Welcome to Chalmun’s,” you said, holding the menu to your chest. “I haven’t seen you around here before. First time on Tatooine?”

Her face remained blank, thin mouth set in a serious line. “No.”

Her voice was deep, smooth, and strangely robotic.

“Oh.” You kept the smile up. “Do you live in Mos Eisley?”

“No.”

Internally, you cursed Wuher for making it a rule that the waitresses had to make small talk with all new customers. The man had never understood that some people just weren’t the talkative type. “How long will you be planetside?”

The woman shifted in her seat, blue eyes surveying you in a way that made you feel as if she already knew everything about you. “As long as I need to be.”

“Understandable,” you said, trying not to look as unnerved as you felt. Who was this strange woman? A bounty hunter? A merchant? Many people came to Tatooine looking for ways to earn credits. And most left empty-handed. “What can I get for you today?”

Without asking to see the menu, she ordered a Blue Drink. You weren’t surprised; if there was one thing Tatooine was known for other than slaves and sand, it was Blue Drink. Almost every new customer tried it their first time at Chalmun’s, not brave enough to be adventurous with their picks just yet.

You returned to her booth a few moments later, one tall glass of Blue Drink balanced on the tray in your left hand. You placed it before her with another smile, wondering if the woman might tip you generously if you notched up the charm. “Here you go: one Blue Drink for one lovely—”

“You’re very kind.”

You bit down the rest of your flattery. “Just doing my job, ma’am.”

“No. Not for this,” the woman said, wrapping her fingers around the glass and bringing it to her lips. As she drank, her eyes shifted to something across the cantina. You turned around, stunned to see that she was looking right at the female Twi’lek that you’d been watching out for all afternoon. You turned back around as she continued, “Most people would turn a blind eye if anything happened to her; most people don’t give a shit about anyone other than themselves.”

You stared at the sand beneath your feet. “Most people are cunts.”

A hum of understanding. “But you aren’t.”

No, you weren’t a cunt, but a gnawing feeling in your gut kept you from nodding in agreement. Was she truly commending you for being a decent human, for doing the bare minimum, for having _morals_? You helped people, sure. But there was so much more you could do. For the Twi’lek, for Tatooine, for yourself.

“It’s the least I can do,” you heard yourself say.

The woman hummed again, finishing the rest of her drink. You made to grab it from her, but she held it just out of your reach with those long arms of hers and asked, “What’s your name?”

Your chest twisted. When was the last time anyone had bothered to ask you that? Over the years, you’d learned to answer to nicknames, even the demeaning ones. Some days you were just _girl_ , others you were _beautiful_ or _pretty_ or _bitch_. No one here but Kaia, Eve, and Wuher knew your real name, the one your parents had given you. It provided you with a sense of security—being nameless to most. It made you feel untethered to anything and anyone.

And yet, for some reason, you gave the stranger your name.

The woman handed you her empty glass, the beginnings of a smile pulling at her lips. “I’m Phasma.”

You offered her a smile of your own. A real smile; not the one you’d been trained to wear in front of patrons. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Phasma. Would you like another Blue Drink?”

She nodded and before you turned, she said quietly, “Do you ever think about leaving Tatooine?”

You swallowed down an uproar of emotion. “All the time.”

* * *

By the time you made it home after your shift, the second sun was dipping below the horizon and winds were beginning to chill with the oncoming darkness. Tatooine’s climate was a harsh cycle of too hot days and too cold nights; those who couldn’t afford the luxury of shelter were likely to perish beneath the suns or freeze to death beneath the stars.

After two years of living here, you were still terrified of being caught outside in the wrong weather. You’d been told stories upon your arrival, horrible tales of stragglers who had been pelted to death by airborne sand when they didn’t get inside fast enough to escape the violent nighttime winds. The mere image of it was enough to make you race up the path to your sandstone den and promptly bar the door shut behind you.

Because if you were going to die on this cesspool of a planet, you would certainly not allow it to be a death by _sand_ of all things.

For dinner, you sat at your small, one-person table and ate deep-fried nuna legs with a few servings of portion bread. It wasn’t your favourite meal, and you had to wash it down with numerous chugs of water to ignore its blandness, but it filled the aching void in your stomach.

Back when you’d still lived with your family, when you’d been too afraid to leave your home planet, you’d been incapable of stringing together a meal for yourself. You’d always relied on someone else to take care of you, to make sure your needs were met for the day. The memory of your helplessness was enough to make you cringe down at your empty plate. Why had no one bothered to tell you how much of a spoiled brat you were?

But then you’d wound up here—alone on a strange planet without a single ally. You’d nearly starved out there, in the desert where your ship crashed. You tried not to think about it often—those seemingly endless days of trudging over sandhills, eating whatever scraps you’d been able to find, delirious with hunger and thirst. When you’d reached Mos Eisley and met the blessing that was Eve, you’d taught yourself to cook out of desperation. Small things at first: colo claw fish, roasted porg, that dreadfully dry portion bread. Now you were sure there wasn’t a meal in the world you couldn’t master. And when you looked back on your first days on Tatooine, you were ashamed of how unprepared you’d been. How _weak_.

You stood from the table and began washing the dishes in the sink, unable to keep yourself from remembering who you had been, comparing that girl to who you were now. Had you really changed that much since then? You were still relying on other people to stay afloat, still working for Wuher, still indebted to Eve. Helpless—

You placed the dishes on the drying rack, banishing the rest of your thoughts as you settled into the comforting familiarity of your nighttime routine. You shucked off your sweat-coated uniform, tossing it into an existing pile of dirty clothes in the corner of the room, and when you pulled off your shoes, you were sure there was an entire beach worth of sand between your toes.

You felt gross. Moreso than you usually did after working a long shift. All you wanted was a warm shower, but you didn’t have a refresher here. You couldn’t afford one. So you wetted a cloth in the sink and scrubbed yourself from head to toe. Twice.

You donned your pyjamas and crawled into bed feeling no less gross, but no longer smelling like a cantina.

Though your eyes were heavy with exhaustion, you didn’t try falling asleep yet. You loved being awake at night—it was the only time of the day that no one expected anything of you, the only hours that belonged to you alone.

You grabbed your holopad and began scrolling through what you had missed while you’d been at Chalmun’s. No notifications, of course. You weren’t the most popular person. You didn’t bother checking the holo news, it was almost always the same: the galaxy was swamped with conflict. _Resistance attacks First Order, First Order attacks Resistance…_

It was all nonsense. Propaganda to fill the gaps between the truly interesting news stories.

When you grew bored of news and social media, you decided to comb through the library of ebooks you’d downloaded months ago and hadn’t gotten around to reading yet. You ended up picking a romance—one that was deliciously erotic, filthy enough to make feel embarrassed even though no one was around.

You read until the words onscreen started to mesh together. Until you were so tired you could no longer focus on the beautifully crafted and ridiculously steamy romance between a company executive and his young secretary. You’d picked a good one, because the flush of your cheeks had nothing to do with the heater you had set up for cold nights like these.

Finally giving in to your body’s fatigued wishes, you shut off your holopad—making sure to delete the ebook history first, of course—and placed it on your bedside table, setting your alarm for the morning. You pulled up your blankets and adjusted the pillows, closing your eyes with a deep breath, sinking into the beginnings of sleep.

But without the ebook’s blissful distraction, without the obscene story to push all other thoughts from your mind, you were vulnerable to your consciousness, unable to keep the memory of what had happened earlier at bay.

_Do you ever think about leaving Tatooine?_

Had that woman—Phasma—known how much those words would affect you? Had she guessed how wounding that simple question would be? Had she seen it on your face?

Yes; you thought about leaving.

 _Of course_ you did.

Who wouldn’t?

There was so much of the galaxy you hadn’t seen, so many things you had only experienced through the stories you read. There were so many other things you could be doing with your life than serving drinks to drunken fools and drowning yourself in erotic fiction at night to ignore the purposelessness of your life.

But you were stuck.

You didn’t have a ship. And you couldn’t afford to buy passage off of the planet. Where would you go, anyway? Your family lived on a Core World deep in Republic territory, you hadn’t seen them in over two years. None of them knew how to fly. None of them had come looking for you.

You had no one.

No one to sweep you up in their arms, press a kiss to your cheek and tell you everything would be alright.

No one would ever take you home.

_Do you ever think about leaving Tatooine?_

You looked out the window beside your bed, staring at the stars until you fell asleep and dreamt of being somewhere, anywhere else.

* * *

You jolted awake to the sound of beeping.

Stiff-limbed and sleepy, you groaned and rolled over, glaring at your holopad where it lay facedown on your bedside table, glowing with the telltale signs of a notification.

You glanced at the window, frowning. It was still dark out; your alarm shouldn’t have been going off. You didn’t know how long you’d been asleep. An hour, a minute? You couldn’t even remember drifting off. You grabbed the holopad, squinting at the blaring brightness of the screen as you examined the notification that had disturbed your rest.

In large, bold letters, the first line of the pop-up comm read:

> _**By recommendation of Captain Phasma of the First Order, you have been invited to attend the Imperial Academy of Lothal, where you will receive gratuitous training for the occupation of your choice within the First Order’s ranks**._

You read it once, twice, three times, the words not making any sense in your sleep-addled mind.

Why had you been sent this? Surely it was a mistake, an error.

You scrolled down to the bottom of the message and choked.

There, at the very end of the comm, was your name.

Impossible.

This was—

_Fucking impossible._

Why would the First Order want you? How did they even know who you were? You’d never applied for anything, never given any sign-up sheet your information. Nobody knew you were on Tatooine, not even your family. You were off the grid, nonexistent. So how—why had you received a formal invitation to the fucking Imperial Academy on the same holopad you read smut on?

You looked down, reading it again. And again and again and again, until realization finally hit you like a blaster shot to the chest.

That woman—the one from Chalmun’s. Phasma. _Captain_ Phasma.

You—

Maker.

You’d assumed she was a bounty hunter or a merchant, but—Stars, you’d been so wrong.

She worked for the First Order. _The First fucking Order_. And she’d noticed _you_ , an insignificant cantina girl who was kind enough to care about a drunk stranger. Oh Stars, had you actually called the generalized population cunts in front of her?

But she hadn’t minded, she’d asked—

_Do you ever think about leaving Tatooine?_

How could you have been so blind? How could you have missed the implications of her words? She hadn’t just been asking out of curiosity; she’d truly wondered if you wanted off of this planet, had thought you deserved a way out of your miserable life.

And what had you replied to her question?

_All the time._

You hadn’t lied. Not a day went by without you thinking of being somewhere else. But you hadn’t thought—

You could never have imagined that she’d do _this_. Get you a place in one of the most prestigious schools in the entire galaxy, for free.

You didn’t deserve this. You were just a cantina girl.

The First Order would have no use of you in their ranks unless they were looking for someone to wash their dishes.

You looked down at the holopad in your hands, tears pricking at your eyes.

 _By recommendation of Captain Phasma of the First Order_ , you read again, desperately trying to keep yourself from sobbing.

Phasma had done this for you. Because she believed in you. Because she had marked your character and deemed you fit for such an honour. You. A cantina girl. She thought you were worthy. She thought you were enough.

You clutched the holopad to your chest. As if you feared it may disappear if you didn’t hold it close.

You _were_ worthy.

You _were_ enough.

And you were getting off this hellhole of a planet, once and for all.

* * *

In the humid basement beneath Chalmun’s, you stood in front of Wuher’s office, your resignation letter tucked under your arm, ready to be handed to your boss of two years, but you couldn’t move. Couldn’t force yourself to raise your arm and knock. You were frozen, rooted in place. Too reluctant to announce your presence and face the man beyond the door.

You’d typed out your resignation the morning after you’d received the message from the Academy, but it had taken you three days—three whole days to garner enough courage to set up a meeting with Wuher. You’d had a plan. Had put on your favourite outfit and walked into Chalmun’s wearing something you felt comfortable in instead of the sleazy cantina girl uniform. Because you were ready to leave this part of your life behind and you were not afraid.

And yet here you stood, _balking_.

You’d encountered swine from all over the galaxy, had crash-landed a ship and survived, had fended off unwanted advances from handsy customers, but standing here, knowing who awaited you inside that room, you couldn’t help but hesitate.

Your confidence was wavering. You’d been ready for days, but…

Maybe you could reschedule the meeting with your boss, work a few more shifts and come back when you were certain you’d be brave enough to quit. It wouldn’t hurt to stay for just a bit—

No.

You’d already said your teary goodbyes to Eve and Kaia, had already found someone who’d buy your house. You’d even booked passage to the Lothal system, and promised the pilot half of what you’d get for selling your dwelling and belongings.

Everything was in order. You were ready.

Talking to Wuher was the last step, the conclusion of your time on Tatooine.

You squared your shoulders, inhaled deeply, and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” called that terrifyingly calm voice after a few intentionally drawn-out moments. Wuher liked to make people wait—it reminded him that he was the one in charge, the one who controlled this cantina, this town. There were very few who had more power than Wuher in Mos Eisley and it made him shamelessly arrogant.

You gulped, putting on a poorly faked facade of aloofness as you pushed open the door and stepped into the shadowed room.

Wuher sat at his desk, thick fingers wrapped around a half-empty bottle of Jawa Juice. He watched beneath lowered brows as you approached, assessing you with his unnervingly dull eyes. You’d never liked Wuher. Even if he’d been kind enough to give you this job, there was something about the heavy-set human man that made you uneasy. The way he looked at you had always made your skin crawl.

Finally, he said, “You wanted to speak with me?”

You nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He leaned back in his chair, shirt straining against his large booze-belly. “I assume you’re here for a pay raise,” he said. You went to correct him but he continued on with a shake of his head, “You always were a desperate bitch. Digging through my trash for food, begging that useless droid to get you a job. Can’t say I’m surprised that you’re here for some more credits. All you waitresses are the same. Greedy, incompetent and—”

“I’m quitting.”

Wuher started. “Quitting?”

Your pulse echoed in your ears as you slid the resignation letter onto his desk. “Yes; I’ve found work elsewhere.”

He snatched up the letter, crushing it beneath his fat fingers as he read it over. You tried not to smile at the way his face contorted with ire, tried not to enjoy that you were causing him, the man who thought so little of you, such anger. Such disorientation.

Wuher looked up at you, eyes blazing as he slammed the paper back down on his desk. “Elsewhere?”

He didn’t like yielding his workers. He never had.

You nodded, unwilling to give him any further details. _Elsewhere._

He raised a brow, looking at you as if he were seeing you for the first time. He chuckled. “I heard the brothel down the street was hiring, I just didn’t think you’d stoop so low.”

You blinked. Once, twice. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me, girl. I’m not being judgemental, of course. You’ve got a pretty face, nice body, but I never thought you’d ever whore it out.” He gave you a smarmy smile. “If you want to practice for your new profession, I’m willing to help you out—”

“I’ve been awarded a scholarship to the Imperial Academy,” you snapped, irritation curling deep in your gut. A sinister part of you relished in the way Wuher blanched. “I leave for Lothal tomorrow at dawn.”

“The Imperial Academy?” he sputtered. “Why would you ever want to go there?”

“I am not obligated to justify my decisions to you.”

He rose from his seat, and it took all you had not to stumble backwards out of fright as he said, “I own you, girl. You are obligated to do whatever I tell you.”

Your cheeks heated with fury. “Not anymore.”

He must’ve seen it on your face—the look of fierce decisiveness that you had acquired from years of working alongside Eve—because Wuher remained quiet for a long time, looking torn between continuing to contend your choice and giving up.

“You’ll never make it,” he said, ignoring your scowl. “You may think me a monster, girl, but the people on Lothal are fifty times worse. Those First Order pricks will make me look like a saint.”

You refrained from rolling your eyes, looking down on him in a way that you hoped made him feel like the piece of shit he was. “I think we’re done here.”

“You’re a fool!” he called as you turned around and started heading for the exit. “They’ve got no respect for our kind there. They’ll eat you alive, girl. And then you’ll come crawling back to me, begging for your job back. It’s—”

You slammed the door, cutting him off.

You stood there for a long time, regaining your composure. Wuher didn’t follow you, didn’t dare attempt to stop you from leaving.

_They’ll eat you alive._

They could certainly try.

You lifted your chin and walked forward. Away from Wuher. Away from Tatooine. Towards a better life, the one you deserved.

Because you were worthy.

You were enough.

* * *

Thirteen and a half standard months later, you graduated from the Imperial Academy’s military division at the top of your class.

You’d been allowed one guest at the ceremony, a single front-row seat for the onlooker of your choice.

You gave it to Wuher.

**Author's Note:**

> Reader reads smut. Are you really surprised?
> 
> I mean...you're here, aren't you?
> 
> I'll try to update as regularly as I can. I've been trying to fit writing in around my school work and it hasn't gotten any easier now that March break has been cancelled where I live :(


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